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4
I was cool, calm, and collected. For about three and a half seconds. Then I closed in on Madeline.
“How do you know Dan?”
She slanted me a look. “Is that more than professional curiosity I hear in your voice?”
I wasn’t about to confess my very personal interest in Dan. Not this early in the conversation. And not to this particular spook. I raised my chin, but since I was about a foot taller than Madeline to begin with, this didn’t exactly have the imposing effect I was hoping for. I had to look down again to look her in the eye.
“Dan wants to study my brain,” I told her. “And my aberrant behavior. He recorded the EVP that helped solve my last case. I can be plenty curious. Dan and me, we’ve got history.”
“Is that all you have?”
It took me a second to figure out what she was getting at. “No way!” I didn’t so much wave away the very idea with one cashmere-enshrouded hand as I dismissed the subject as none of Madeline’s business. “You can’t be serious. Dan and I have never—”
“But it’s not like you don’t want to.”
Did I?
OK, Dan was cute. He was more than cute. Dan was sexy. In a dorky sort of way. It never ceased to amaze me that I thought of him that way, since dorks have never been my thing and geeky scientists aren’t exactly on the top of my list when it comes to guys I want to get up close and personal with.
Like I’d been up close and personal with Quinn.
The thought brought me up short, and I curled my hands into fists and held my arms close to my sides, keeping my secrets as carefully as I chose my words. This was not the time. And Madeline was not the person who needed to hear any of this.
I deflected her question with one of my own. “How do you know Dan?” I asked her again.
She expected more in the way of me owning up to Dan’s deliciousness. When she didn’t get it, her eyes narrowed. “I worked with him,” she said. “Here in Chicago. At the Gerard Clinic.”
“Dan worked in Chicago?”
“Ah, something else you didn’t know.” Madeline’s smile was sleek. “Looks like the great detective needs a little help now and then after all. Danny . . .” Though it wasn’t mussed or rumpled, she smoothed a hand over her lab coat. “He was a graduate student at Northwestern at the time. He was completing his dissertation and working with Doctor Hilton Gerard.” She paused, waiting for me to respond, and when I didn’t, Madeline shook her head sadly. “You’ve never heard of Doctor Gerard, have you?”
“I’ve heard of Doctor Doolittle. And Doctor Who. Is this Doctor Gerard guy related to either of them?”
“Ah yes, hiding your inadequacies behind jokes that aren’t funny.” Madeline seemed to make a mental note of this before she turned her attention back to our conversation. “Hilton Gerard is one of the most distinguished psychiatrists in the country. He runs the Gerard Clinic.”
“Where Dan used to work.”
“I worked there, too.” This was obviously a matter of some pride to Madeline. Her chin came up. Her eyes sparkled as much as a dead person’s can. “I was Hilton’s chief research assistant.”
“Which explains how you knew Dan.”
This was not the gushy response she was expecting. I knew this when she pouted. On Madeline, it was not a pretty expression. “I conducted all Hilton’s clinical studies,” she said, in answer to the questions I was supposed to ask but didn’t. “I interviewed and selected our test subjects, and I was in charge of collecting, compiling, and synthesizing our research data. The day-to-day operations of the clinic, that’s Hilton’s bailiwick. So are the grant proposals. And the fundraising . . . well, nobody can get the city’s movers and shakers to open their wallets the way Hilton can. He’s a genius.”
“And he knows Dan.”
Madeline let go of an annoyed sigh. I couldn’t help but notice that when she did, there was no puff of cloudy air around her mouth. “Yes, Hilton knows Danny. That’s the problem, don’t you see?”
“Kind of hard to see something when you’re not making anything clear.” My fingers were numb; I shoved my hands in my pockets. “You want to explain what a job Dan had in grad school has to do with him being in trouble now?”
“I would. If you’d stop jabbering.” Madeline stepped away from her grave. While she collected her thoughts, she paced back and forth, and when she was finally ready to speak, she stopped directly in front of me. “Three years ago, I left the clinic late one night and I got mugged. The mugger panicked when I didn’t produce my wallet as quickly as he would have liked. He shot me. I died in the alley outside the clinic’s back door.”
“No way Dan had anything to do with that.”
Madeline’s eyes glistened. “So, though you pretend you’re not interested in a personal sort of way, you do think highly enough of Danny to know he’d never do anything wrong. From a psychological standpoint, that’s very interesting. You try not to reveal your true emotions, but—”
“Get back on track, will you, before I shoot you myself.”
Madeline got the message. “Danny wasn’t involved in my murder. You’re correct in thinking that. He wasn’t even at the clinic that night, though he was supposed to be. He had some statistics to tabulate and a few reports he should have been going over. But—”
“But he wasn’t there and that’s why you were alone and that’s how you got mugged. Now you’re pissed and you want justice.” I’d heard this song and dance before, or at least ones similar to it. It didn’t take more than a nanosecond for me to make up my mind. “If Dan wasn’t there when he was supposed to be, then he must have had a good reason. So, nice try, but I’m not going to help you get your revenge from beyond the grave. Not against Dan.”
“You’re defending him. Even though you don’t know the whole story. I like that!” Madeline smiled. When a skeleton finger of sun poked through the clouds, her eyes glittered. “That’s nice. It proves you have feelings for him.” Before I could respond with a lie, she went on. “Good thing I’m not asking for revenge.”
“Not against Dan. OK, I get that since it wasn’t his fault. But how about against the guy who shot you?”
The sun ducked back behind the clouds and Madeline’s face was thrown into shadow. “The man who killed me . . . John Wilson . . .he was one of our clients and mentally unstable, poor soul. There’s nothing to be gained from wanting revenge against him. When he snapped out of the dissociative state he was in when he shot me and realized what he’d done, the guilt was too much for him to bear. He took an overdose. He’s been dead nearly as long as I have.”
“So you’re not mad at Dan. And you’re not mad at this John guy. But you want my help anyway. Why?”
“Like I said, it’s all because of Danny.”
It was a sound bite, not an explanation. I stepped back, my arms crossed over my chest and my hands tucked under my arms and close to my body in a futile effort to generate some heat.
Madeline didn’t have to worry about trying to maintain 98.6; she could afford to take her time. While I shifted from foot to foot and stamped my feet, she eased into her explanation.
“You know Danny is brilliant. I mean, you must. Anyone who meets him instantly knows he’s unique. I knew it, too, as soon as Doctor Gerard introduced us. Once I started working with Danny . . . well, it didn’t take me long to realize that in addition to his razor-sharp mind, he has something a lot of scientists lack—a special spark of creativity. Sure, he has an encyclopedic knowledge of psychology and biochemistry, but he can take that knowledge and combine it with experience and... well, it’s hard to explain to a layperson, but his results are always surprising. He has a way of looking at old information in new ways. That’s something special.” Madeline raised her chin.
“I admired Danny’s methods and his thought processes. I appreciated the fact that though I was his superior, he was open to asking for my advice. Many men won’t do that, you know. Especially when it comes to research. Not when they’re working with women who are more professionally and academically advanced and—” If I didn’t know better, I would have said her smile was sweet. “Well, I guess you’ve probably never been in that position, have you?”
The smile I shot back was just as sugary. “You sound like you’re writing Dan’s retirement speech.”
“I just want to be sure you understand. Danny was a real asset to the clinic. He was—”
“Terrific. Yeah, I get it. Dan was terrific, this Doctor Gerard guy is perfection, and you were the ace number one go-to person who kept the place running like clockwork. So?”
“So, even after Danny left Chicago, he kept in touch with Doctor Gerard. They’re working together now on a special study.”
A single snowflake drifted in front of my eyes, and the heavy clouds above us promised more. If I stood there much longer, I’d harden up and be mistaken for one of the statues. Like a bewildered spectator trying to decipher an especially baffling charade, I urged Madeline on with a wave of both hands. “And this study . . .”
She hesitated.
I grumbled.
Madeline drummed her fingers against her chin. “I hate to say anything denigrating against Doctor Gerard,” she said. “He’s a great man. A brilliant man. Without him and the Gerard Clinic, thousands of the indigent would never have adequate mental health care. It’s just . . .” She drew in a breath. Without taking in any air, of course. “Some of Doctor Gerard’s business practices aren’t exactly on the up-and-up.”
“And you know this, how?”
She shrugged. “Like I said, I was his research assistant. His right-hand man, so to speak. After taking a look at the clinic’s operating budget and balancing it against what I knew we were bringing in with our fundraising efforts . . . well, I had my suspicions. Of course I dismissed them as flights of fancy. Doctor Gerard wouldn’t . . . He couldn’t . . . But then I found out it was true. Doctor Gerard was . . . he is—”
“A crook.”
Madeline made a face. “You make it sound so tawdry. And Doctor Gerard is anything but. He’s a wonderful, warm individual. And a great humanitarian. He’s from old money, you know. His father and his grandfather and his great-grandfather, they were all distinguished psychiatrists, too. Back in the late 1800s, his great-grandfather founded the Gerard Hospital for the Insane and Mentally Feeble up near Winnetka. The name of the hospital makes it sound so incredibly antiquated and cruel, but back then, the place was cutting-edge and the therapies they used were humane and helpful. That Doctor Gerard . . . well, everyone who knows anything about psychiatry knows about his work.”
Ancient history. It was getting us nowhere, and nowhere meant we’d never get through this and get inside someplace where it was warm. I wouldn’t have had to point this out if she wasn’t dead and oblivious to the cold. Instead, I pinned her with a look that told her to get a move on.
Thinking, Madeline chafed her hands together. “Hilton never would have done what he did if I was still around. Like I said, I made sure the clinic was—”
“Shipshape. Yeah, I know.”
She didn’t appreciate the interruption so she pretended it hadn’t happened. “He also never would have gotten involved in what he’s involved in if he didn’t give so much of his own personal fortune to the clinic to make sure it stayed solvent. Government funding cuts, you know, and Hilton, he can’t bear to see his patients suffer because of ridiculous government bureaucracy. He—”
“He cooked the books. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
Madeline blinked rapidly. “He knew it was the only way, and then...well, like I said, I wasn’t around and... and then things got out of hand.”
“How out of hand?”
I doubt if ghosts can blush, but I swear her cheeks got dusky. “There’s the house in the Bahamas,” she said. “And the offshore accounts. Hilton isn’t flamboyant, but he does appreciate the finer things in life. Clothes, cars, food, wine. I mean, it’s just about impossible to hold any of it against him. If he’s going to convince the city’s elite to support the clinic, he needs to mingle with them. And if he’s going to mingle with them, he needs to live like one of them. Besides, a man in his position has a great deal of stress and he deserves the little luxuries of life.”
“Some people wouldn’t consider a house in the Bahamas a little luxury.”
“Of course not. Please don’t get me wrong.” Madeline’s voice was almost pleading. “I don’t want you to think badly of Hilton. That’s not why I’m telling you any of this. He’s misguided, that’s all. And the quality of patient care at the clinic hasn’t deteriorated in the least because of what he’s doing. I know this for certain. I go over there now and again just to reassure myself. I’ve told myself that as long as the clinic is running efficiently and patients aren’t affected, it’s really none of my business, but—”
“But you’re in love with this Hilton character. Or at least you were when you were alive. And you don’t want to see him get in trouble.” It didn’t take a genius to read that much into Madeline’s words, so really, she shouldn’t have greeted my statement with a snort of contempt.
“In love? With Hilton? You really haven’t been paying attention to a word I’ve said, have you? Hilton is a big boy, he can take care of himself. And he will. Believe me, you don’t become as successful or as powerful as Hilton Gerard without learning to fine-tune your self-preservation skills. When the net closes around the Gerard Clinic, Hilton isn’t the one who’s going to be caught in it.”
“Dan?” The name escaped past the sudden knot of anxiety that blocked my throat. “You mean he’s mixed up in all this, too? No. Wait!” I swallowed down my panic. “No way. There’s no way Dan would ever do anything dishonest. Whatever your Doctor Gerard is up to, Dan isn’t a part of it.”
This time, my loyalty to Dan didn’t impress Madeline. Her sour expression pretty much summed up what she thought of me. “Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter if Danny knows what’s going on or not. He’s getting funding from the clinic for that study he’s conducting. Funding cuts or not, a whole lot of that money still comes from the government, from Medicare and such. When the federal authorities close in—”
Two little words—federal authorities—and my panic was back in full force. The psychology-minded might have called it conditioning. I attributed it to good old-fashioned been there, done that. I was backing away even before I was aware that I was moving.
“Oh no. No feds for me. I’ve had enough of those guys for one lifetime.”
It wasn’t until Madeline gave me a blank look that I realized that like it or not, I owed her an explanation.
“My dad,” I said, and damn, but I hated telling this story. “He was a plastic surgeon. There was a little matter of Medicare fraud. Dad will be in federal prison for at least another eight years.”
It was the Reader’s Digest Condensed version, of course. I’d purposely left out all the stuff about how, thanks to Dad’s illegal doings, our family had lost everything: the upscale house in the upscale suburb, his bank accounts and investments, the people who’d always said they were our friends. Mom didn’t wait around to watch the Martin family go down in flames; she hightailed it to Florida to hide from the shame. And me? Well, I’d been dumped by the fiancé who had claimed he loved me more than my family’s money, and instead of becoming a CCW (that’s country-club wife) and working on my tan, on my backhand, or on completing what had been shaping up to be a superior collection of Marc Jacobs handbags, I was working as a tour guide in a cemetery.
Enough said.
Fortunately, Madeline didn’t bother with any sympathy. Fine by me, since I wasn’t looking for any. Ever the logical scientist, she breezed right on. “Then you understand the problem completely. I’ve heard rumor that the FBI is nosing around the clinic, and if that’s true, you know they’re going to uncover Hilton’s wrongdoings. They’re not going to care that the money Danny is using was filtered through Hilton. They’re going to see that he’s spending government funds on a study that was never approved. And then—”
“Dan’s going to join my dad as a guest of the government.”
I didn’t like the thought or the picture that popped into my mind—the one of Dan behind bars. I swallowed hard and told my imagination to sit down and shut up.
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves here,” I told Madeline, forcing myself to think like a detective, because that was better than giving in to the panic. “We’ve got to look at the facts before we jump to conclusions. What kind of study is Dan working on with Doctor Gerard, anyway?”
Madeline shrugged. She didn’t like being out of the loop, and three years of being dead pretty much assured that. “I don’t know all the details. I do know it has something to do with brain waves. Whatever it is, it’s not worth Danny risking his reputation. Or his freedom.”
I was so not going to go there. That’s why I glommed on to the brain-wave part. “So Dan really is a research scientist, right? I mean, the whole thing about studying my brain and my aberrant behavior, that’s legit?”
She cocked her head. “You didn’t think it was?”
“I wasn’t sure. I mean, I believed him at first because I met him in a hospital and all, but then when he saved my life—”
“Did he?” Madeline looked interested in spite of herself. “Danny’s a man of many talents.”
“And he believes in ghosts.” I wasn’t sure if this was news to Madeline, but I thought it only fair I share it. “He’s never come right out and said it, but he’s hinted, you know? He knows what he’s talking about. He knows you guys exist.”
Her smile was nothing short of beatific. “I told you, Danny thinks outside the box. And you . . .” When she looked at me, the expression faded. “You’re glad he was telling the truth, aren’t you? About the brain studies?”
I was, and I wasn’t ashamed to admit it.
“Then you want to help him?”
I groaned. “Of course I don’t want to see anything bad happen to Dan. But I can’t believe he’s mixed up in Doctor Gerard’s fraud scheme. Really. Dan isn’t the type.”
“You haven’t been listening.” Madeline stalked away, whirled around, and came back at me. “It doesn’t matter if he knows what’s going on. Hilton’s going to get caught, and when he does, Danny’s going down with him. His career will be over. His life will be ruined. You’re the only one who can stop it, Pepper. You’ve got to help him.”
“But—”
Madeline’s voice simmered with anger. “You just told me Danny saved your life, and now you’re going to let him spend the best years of his life in jail?”
“No. I mean, I don’t want to. It’s just that . . .” I collected my thoughts. “I just can’t believe—”
“You don’t believe Danny’s involved? Well, I can prove it. He and Doctor Gerard are having dinner tonight at Piece, the brewery over on West North Avenue.” Madeline shimmered around the edges. She faded like a bad TV picture. “Go there.” Her voice faded, too, until it didn’t sound as if it was coming from her at all. It was in the air all around me. And in the icy wind that ducked under my collar and shivered down my back. “You’ll see.”
“But . . .” By the time I made a move to close in on her, she was already gone. “What am I going to say to him?” I asked anyway. “How am I going to explain that I know that Doctor Gerard is skimming the clinic’s money?”
My only answer was the sound of the wind that blew across the headstones around me.
“Damn,” I grumbled, and I turned back toward the Palmer memorial.
That’s when I realized the tour group—and the tour bus—had already moved on to another part of the cemetery.
And didn’t it just figure? It started to snow.

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Night of the Loving Dead
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